Mawwage and Twu Wuv

Christmas 2009

Mayhaps I'm a typical UD student. Mayhaps I am a typical female. But "mawwage" has been a topic on my mind and in my heart during the past weekend. Go ahead, mock my x-chromosomes.


Yesterday, April 9, marked my parent's 32rd anniversary. Thirty-two years, good grief! I must admit, this year is a bit different. My parents, for reasons I dare not explain, have been separated for almost a year. Sadly, they will more than likely remain that way. Their marriage has certainly taught me what love is--and what it isn't. My thoughts have been centered on them for the majority of this weekend, but my thoughts (as they tend to do) wandered from reality to the imaginary and the hypothetical...


Most girls, at one point or another, plan their weddings. Sorry to break it to you, gents, but chances are your lady has every miniscule detail, right down to the frilly napkin holders, picked out. Call me crazy, but I've never gone to that extreme. True, I've always imagined a fall wedding with crisp, orange leaves sprinkling the ground. Would that be scenic with scarlet dresses adorning my bridesmaids? But that is as far as it goes with me. I kind of blank when I picture that theoretical day. The truth is, I've never been able to picture myself in a wedding dress. I don't fantasize about walking down the aisle. And don't get me started on that whole groom part...I suppose he is somewhat important in this blissful event. All I can ever picture is a pair of polished, black shoes and square shoulders filling out a square coat. He looks more like a transformer, I suppose, than a man. Essentially, I only imagine my closest girlfriends and I playing dress-up for Prom Part II...yet wait, where's my dress?!


But a strange thought came over me during Mass yesterday. I realized that I like being single. Correction: I love being single. It is not an easy business "ridin' solo--" mainly because it involves me, myself, and I. As you can imagine, dear reader, I am perfectly imperfect. Somedays, I can't even look in the mirror and if I do, boy do I nitpick. It's my daily struggle (along with the rest of the world's) to learn to love myself and see what others love about me. 

Flowers in Paris, Spring 2010

This is a different kind of love. Less black and white, more gray. But it is the love that Christ is calling me towards. Pray for me to endure it!